


Turn On The Heating

by iwanna_seeyou_undoit



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Zayn/Perrie is there for literally 2 seconds, and Nick Grimshaw is mentioned once, because apparently i cannot write narry without blowjobs, it's basically just stupid boys in a flat that's too cold, mentions of smut to happen outside the timezone of the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:11:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwanna_seeyou_undoit/pseuds/iwanna_seeyou_undoit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall seizes up, blushing all the way down his neck it feels like. He did <i>not </i>mean to leave that CD in the player. Can’t use the excuse of not noticing it was the wrong one, because it’s bright orange. “I… Liam left that in there, I think,” <i>Yes, Niall. Because </i>that <i>was convincing. </i>“I’ll put another one in. How does… I’ve got, um how about we just listen to The Eagles?”</p><p>Harry’s shaking his head and smirking at Niall from where he’s sprawled out on the couch. “What’re you on about? Nothing wrong with a little Ed, is there?”</p><p>Basically just silly boys who really like each other in a flat that's too cold. Ed Sheeran helps a little, too</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn On The Heating

**Author's Note:**

> As most things are, this is for sleighalmighty on Tumblr. I love you, Sophie my dear, I hope you like this (even if it's only half of what you requested) <3

Niall is absolutely, without a doubt freezing his balls off. 

At the time – mid-July when everything was yellow and warm – keeping the heating off unless it was crucial had seemed like a good idea. They’d all been second years, naïve off of living in the University’s Halls of Residence, when Niall and Zayn had stood shoulder to shoulder and pitched the idea to Liam, saying how much money it would _save_ , how _beneficial_ keeping the heater off would be in the long run.

It’s only late November – not even winter yet, for fuck’s sake – and they’ve been breathing out clouds of mist for _days_. Niall doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up, really doesn’t want to prove Liam right ( _“You’ll be the first to break, Niall,”_ ) but he’s rather attached to his balls, actually. 

He shivers, and pulls the three tartan blankets his mam had dropped on the couch the last time she visited, tighter around him. Jamie Oliver is rambling on about how to get the _perfect_ mashed spud and Niall _really_ doesn’t care, but changing the channel would mean moving his arm out from underneath the blankets and… Jamie Oliver is the lesser of two evils. 

Liam is doing some catering course at Uni, so Niall’s betting on him bringing home a nice, steaming cottage pie. If he doesn’t, Niall won’t be eating because he sure as hell isn’t moving from the relative warmth of the couch to fix himself dinner. 

“Hey, Zayn!” Niall tilts his head so he’s yelling over the back of the sofa. “When’s Liam due?” 

“No fucking clue, bro!” Zayn calls back to him, voice sounding slightly muted. He’s in bed then. Smart lad. “Do you reckon he’ll bring dinner?”

“If he doesn’t, can we force him to cook for us?” On the TV, Jamie is talking about how warm and fluffy and buttery the potatoes are, and Niall’s so jealous he thinks he might kill Jamie if he ever met him. The sheer _warmth_ the kitchen must be emitting… Zayn appears at the arm of the couch – wrapped in his duvet, two jumpers and two pairs of sweatpants with fuzzy toe socks Liam had bought him as a gag gift the year before. Not such a joke anymore.

“Only if you cuddle me. ‘S too cold to be in bed alone.” Zayn plops down next to Niall and wriggles into him, head burrowed into his shoulder. 

Niall agrees and shifts so he’s twisted sideways on the couch, socked feet worming their way under Zayn’s thigh. “Do you think Liam would notice if we turned the heating on while he’s out?”

“He’d find out, Niall. You know him – proper Doctor Watson.”

“Not Sherlock, then?” Niall tugs at Zayn’s duvet, gaining a little corner for his ankles. 

“Our Liam? Nah…he’s not staunch enough to pull off a proper Holmes.”

“We could steal his blankets and his socks, and refuse to give them back until he turns the heating on, himself.” Niall _seriously_ doesn’t want to prove Liam right. He’s meant to be from Ireland, meant to be accustomed to living in sub-zero conditions. 

Zayn seems to agree. “While I admire your thinking, Liam would beat us both in a fight _so_ easily,” H chews on his lower lip, mulling the situation over. “We could invite some people ‘round and they’d be so cold they’ll complain and Liam will _have_ to turn the heating on.” 

“Couldn’t subject people to this.” Niall shake his head and Zayn cuddles closer. 

“Liam would never fall for it.” 

Jamie Oliver moves on to cooking beef sirloins, and now Niall isn’t just jealous because of the warmth in his kitchen. He hasn’t eaten much more than a microwave meals for nigh on a year. He’s put out of his misery when Liam _does_ in fact bring home a lovely, steaming cottage pie (Niall is a psychic), it’s like Christmas come early for Zayn and Niall. Just without the snow. Thank God. 

♥

“Jesus _fuck_ , it’s cold in here!” Louis bustles through the door to their flat, coat the he’d been in the process of shrugging off tangled around his elbows. “Was looking forward to getting out of this thing, but now I guess it’s my only option unless I want to lose all bodily functions.”

Niall looks up at him from his place on the couch – he’s taken up near permanent residence there in the weeks after his conversation with Zayn about tricking Liam into turning the heating on. Louis’ never been one for knocking, so instead of putting up with his whinging, Zayn’d called a flat meeting and they’d decided to just give Louis their spare key.

“Keeps out bills low,” Niall will _not_ admit it was his idea. “We’re keeping the heaters off ‘till we’re desperate for them.” 

Louis raises his eyebrows and turns away to stick his head out the door, “Bring in that spare coat will you, Haz? They’re sticking to that bloody scheme of Niall and Zayn’s!” Apparently Niall can’t hide things from his best mates. Louis’ head is back inside now, and he rubs his hands in front of his mouth – huffing on them. “It’s the tenth of bleeding December. You don’t think you’re desperate for some heat now?”

Niall just huffs and cuddles further into his blankets. He’d unearthed another blanket in a box that he hadn’t unpacked until a few days prior when he was searching for a hot water bottle. Instead, he’d found a soft woolen blanket, and a wheat bag.

There’s the usual clattering of boots being kicked off that always accompany Harry’s arrival, and Niall tries to look a little less sorry for himself. Louis, of course, notices, and smirks and Niall when Harry walks through the door. Twat. 

Harry’s dressed rather appropriately for the weather. Tight black jeans as per usual, a dark blue woollen jumper that’s probably covering a thermal t-shirt if past shopping trips with Harry ae anything to go off, and a tan coat over top of it all that’s lined with a thick layer of wool. He’s got thick granddad socks on and Niall doesn’t know whether to put the flutter in his chest down to inappropriate attraction to the socks, or inappropriate attraction to his best friend. He decides to tuck his feet further under the sofa cushions in lieu of answering that question.

“Are you raising penguins in here? One of you married a snowman?” Harry grins at his joke, and Louis disappears into the kitchen.

“You’re out of teabags?! As if living in an igloo wasn’t bad enough, now you can’t even have a hot drink?” 

Harry quirks his mouth at Niall, eyes laughing at Louis. “There’s coffee in the pantry. And cocoa.” Louis makes a sound of vague approval and Niall lowers his voice so there’s no danger of him hearing. “Only got those because Liam’s mum gave us her stash she’d nicked from motels.” 

Niall gets a sort-of-laugh out of Harry and wonders what’s wrong. Then, “Got 89% on that bio paper you helped me cram for.”

 _Oh. That’d be what’s wrong then._ Harry is at med school, wants to be a paediatrician, and he’d needed to get 90% to pass a pre-exam. 

“Can you resit it?” Niall sneaks a hand out from underneath his blankets to rest it on Harry’s knee. 

“Tomorrow, yeah.”

“That’s good. Know where you went wrong last time?” He isn’t really sure what the ‘right’ thing to say was, doesn’t know what Harry needs to hear.

“Yeah. Realised as soon as I got out. I could have _kicked_ myself,” Harry sighs and knocks his knee against Niall’s foot calf – the closest thing to him. “Reckon I’d be to come around here afterwards?”

And, in what world would Niall refuse Harry. “Only if you bring ‘round some blankets. ‘S much as I love you, I’m not sharing mine, sorry.”

Louis comes out of the kitchen, hands wrapped around a steaming cup. “Fuck that, Niall,” He walks over to the wall where the heat pump is. “Send me the bill if you want, I’m not letting you three get pneumonia because you’re stubborn idiots.”

It takes about five minutes for the effects to be felt, but by the time Zayn comes home from work, Louis and Harry are still on the sofa beside Niall – all three of them watching Jamie Oliver give them tips for Christmas dinner, no blankets to be seen except the one that was covering Niall’s feet because his feet were _always_ cold, no matter what. While it isn’t an Antarctic trek to get the remote any more, none of them can be bothered to change the channel and Niall’s getting rather fond of Jamie. 

Liam comes home half an hour later, and immediately smirks at Niall. “I _told_ you that you two’d be the first to break.” 

As a unit, Zayn and Niall turn to point at Louis. “It wasn’t us.” Louis shrugs like _what can you do?_ and Liam drops it, joining them on the couch. By then end of the program, all five of them know exactly how to stuff a chicken _and_ how to get the perfect chocolate fondant. 

Very masculine, they were.

♥

At six thirty the next day, Niall answers the door to a very thrilled looking Harry. Liam’s spending the night at Andy’s and Zayn is at Perrie’s, so Niall has the heating turned right up and has all his CDs loaded into the triple disk stereo for once. When they moved in, Liam commandeered the kitchen, Zayn took dibs on the stereo and the biggest bedroom, and Niall claimed the bath and the TV for himself. It was an arrangement that avoided as many arguments as possible, but Niall did miss having control over the music. 

“How d’you think you went?” Niall takes Harry’s coat and watches as he kicks his boots off at the door. 

“ _So_ much better than last time. Reckon I’ve passed, at least.” His dimples are out full force and Niall can’t handle it; he pulls Harry into a hug and decides to get huffy at his boots in the middle of the floor another time.

“Yeah?” Niall gives him a push in the direction of the lounge. “That’s deserving of a drink, do you not think?”

Harry grins up at him from where he’s flopped down on the sofa. “Please,” When Niall wanders off into the kitchen to fetch a couple of Coronas, Harry raises his voice. “Do you always watch Jamie Oliver? ‘S that all your aerial picks up or something?”

Niall hadn’t noticed that while the channel had been changed, Jamie Oliver’s 3 Minute Meals had followed him, but when he returns from the fridge, he finds that that’s exactly what has happened. “‘ve already seen this one.” 

“How come you aren’t making me the ‘perfect mash’, then?” Harry cringes when Niall opens his bottle with his teeth, and digs around in the pockets of his jeans for his keys. “You’ll break your teeth, doing that.” He’s using the edge of his house key to open his beer, and Niall has to bite his tongue to keep from telling Harry he’ll _‘break his key, doing that.’_

“B’cause Liam’s the cook in this household, and we’re ordering takeout, getting pissed, and watching… Have they started playing Christmas films yet?” Niall’s already half finished his beer, and Harry’s frowning at him. 

He’s probably working his way up to a lecture about how he shouldn’t drink so fast, and he should be saving money, and _doesn’t he know what it does to his liver and his brain cells_? but Niall’s scrolling through the TV guide on screen and there’s _Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy_ to distract him. 

Harry sips away on his beer while the opening credits start up, and Niall decides to just get up and grab the rest of the beer from the fridge before the movie gets properly started. “‘S not even a proper Christmas film, H.”

“But ‘s a good film,” Harry regards his half empty beer bottle. “Bring a bottle opener will you? You’re not breaking your teeth on my watch.” Niall does, in fact, unearth a bottle opener he didn’t know existed. Just for Harry. Wouldn’t be bent double with his head in a cupboard for anyone else. 

They’ve drunk three beers each by the time the film ends and they decide to order Chinese, and Niall’s feeling a little tipsy. Harry’s hair is looking like a very nice place to nuzzle into – make a little nest and live there for the rest of his life and… Oh. He’s standing up. He’s standing up and bending down to get the stereo playing and his bum looks _very_ nice. Lovely and small and soft, like it would fit very nicely into Niall’s hand. 

“D’you want to get naan?” Harry asks, turning up the volume.

Niall has to raise his voice to be heard over Hotel California, and unfortunately, Harry stands up. “That’s Indian, Harold.”

“Guess not. We’ve already ordered anyway.” He collapses on the sofa and rests his head in Niall’s lap, causing more of an issue that Niall cares to admit. To avoid any embarrassment – because he isn’t a _teenager_ anymore, he has self-control – Niall strokes his hand through Harry’s hair once, and then shoves at his shoulder. 

“Lemme change the CD, will you?” 

“What’s wrong with this one?” Harry moves, but not without grumbling about his back hurting. 

“We’ve overdone it a bit, do you not think?” They had. Every time Harry was over, they broke out The Eagles. It was time for something different. Harry nods his agreement, and Niall lines up the next disc without thinking. 

_White lips, pale face; breathing in snowflakes, burnt lungs, sour taste._

Niall seizes up, blushing all the way down his neck it feels like. He did _not_ mean to leave that CD in the player. Can’t use the excuse of not noticing it was the wrong one, because it’s bright orange. “I… Liam left that in there, I think,” _Yes, Niall. Because_ that _was convincing._ “I’ll put another one in. How does… I’ve got, um how about we just listen to The Eagles?”

Harry’s shaking his head and smirking at Niall from where he’s sprawled out on the couch. “What’re you on about? Nothing wrong with a little Ed, is there?” He pastes an offended frown on his face, and Niall _knows_ he’s pretending but being full of beer always makes him more emotionally volatile, and now he has to _placate_ Harry while half _drunk_.

“No no, that’s not… If you want to listen to it, I don’t mind, I just… Kills the mood a bit, doe’n’t it?” He stands up from where he was crouched in front of the TV, and dusts his knees off. 

“Thought it’s known for _setting_ a mood?” Harry props himself up on an elbow, and now he’s _smriking_.

“I…well, y-yes… But we’re not…we aren’t setting a- um, a mood. So, I thought…” The doorbell puts Niall out of his misery, and he nearly runs in his haste to get out of the same room as Harry and fetch their dinner.

He returns with two containers of Chinese – sweet and sour chicken for Harry, and black bean chicken for himself – and resolutely blocks out the mellow guitar coming from the speakers. “Order up?”

Harry sits upright and grins at him. “I don’t care about Ed Sheeran, Niall. Quite like him, actually,” He takes his container and the proffered plastic fork from Niall’s hands, and then continues. “Not in like, a ‘I fancy the pants off him and I’d shag him if I wasn’t afraid of ruining something’ way, but…he’s a talented guy.”

It sounds, to Niall, like Harry has experience with the first option. “Who is it, then?” He asks, swallowing down the rising lump in his throat – something that feels awfully akin to jealousy. 

“What?”

“Who’s the person you ‘quite fancy but won’t shag because you’re scared you’ll ruin something’?” Niall takes a bite of his meal and has to fight to urge to spit it out, tongue burning because _of course_ it’s piping hot. 

_Way to make him look like an idiot in front of Harry._ Harry, who is looking like he’s fighting a world war inside his head. 

“I won’t tell them. Is it…is it someone I know?” Harry nods, and Niall tries to look exited instead of hopelessly gutted that it isn’t him. “Liam?”

“Liam and me? Seriously, Niall?” Harry looks genuinely offended, which Niall supposes is an improvement on ‘pained that you’d ever even ask me that question.’

“Okay, sorry. Is it Zayn? Because I really hope it’s not, as he’s got a girlfriend.”

“It’s not Zayn, Niall. And it isn’t Louis!” Harry adds before Niall can even open his mouth. 

“Oh...” Niall’s running throught their mutual male friends in his head. “It’s Nick, then?” He can’t help that he sounds a little put out, because not only is he sitting here talking about who Harry wants to shag, but he’s sitting here talking about Harry wanting to shag Nick. Which…Nick’s lovely and all, but _no._

“No,” Harry’s staring at Niall from under his eyelashes which never really bodes well, and Niall can’t help but think: _he’s not telling you because he doesn’t trust you enough. I bet he’s told Louis. And Zayn. He was always closer with them._ “Niall.”

Niall shovels more chicken in his mouth, ignoring the fact he’s probably burning his taste buds off. He doesn’t _want_ to hear what Harry has to say, he doesn’t want to think about what the denial of all his guesses means. Maybe Harry’s _straight_ , maybe Niall never had a chance… He doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse.

“ _Niall_ ,” Harry reaches out and grabs Niall’s elbow. “I think you’re really pretty.”

_So he’s seen you pining over him and he’s letting you down gently._

Niall can’t look at Harry. He _can’t_. It’s petty, he isn’t in college anymore, he should be able to face a little rejection, especially one worded this kindly. 

“Will you _look at me_ , please Niall? I’m trying to tell you that _it’s you_ , and you’re not _listening_ to me.” Which, what?

Niall’s head shoots up. “You what?”

“I like you,” Harry’s blushing furiously and Niall should most definitely _not_ be attracted to a beetroot face, but he is. “You’re the one I really like. It’s not Louis, it’s not Zayn, and it most certainly is _not_ Nick. He’s got a boyfriend, Niall.”

Niall can’t get past the fact that… “You want to _shag_ me?”

“Well.... Yeah?” Harry’s eyebrows do that thing where they look like they’ve no idea where they want to go, and be bites at his bottom lip in the way Niall _knows_ makes them dry out and crack. 

“Why didn’t…why didn’t you tell me?” Yes, he is aware of the fact that he’s being very hypocritical, right now. 

Harry huffs. “B’cause I didn’t want to ruin things.”

Niall ditches his carton of Chinese, and takes Harry’s out of his hands as well. Once both meals are safely on the floor, he looks in the direction of Harry’s clavicle. “I wanna shag you too,” he realises that sounds rather tactless. Possibly not his best line ever. “And, like, kiss you and stuff. I like you too, basically. For ages.”

He chances a glance up at Harry and is met with a wide smile, and then there’s a heavy, curly, _lovely_ smelling boy pressing his face into Niall’s neck and he never wants to move again. Well, maybe he _should_ move, because Harry’s thigh is pressing _just right_ against Niall’s crotch and… He tries to subtly squirm out from under him, but Harry rolls his hips and grinds down very deliberately. 

“Don’t you _dare_ move,” He nips at Niall’s neck with playfully sharp teeth. “The boys aren’t here, and the heating is working, and you _said_ you want to shag me, so don’t you _dare_ move.”

Niall can feel Harry pressed hard against his hip, and he _really_ wants to, he does but… “Are we like…are we boyfriends now?”

Harry rolls his eyes and presses the sharp of his elbow into Niall’s stomach. “Yes. Now _please_ snog me and shag me and… I can’t think of another one that ends in ‘G’.”

“Song?” Niall suggests, brain already going hazy because it’s been _so long_ and he’s _so_ horny.

“Yes, Niall. Please snog me and shag me and song me. That makes _perfect_ sense.” 

Niall decides he’s had enough of Harry – he puts up with his bad puns all day long and when he tries to help out, he gets shot down in a painfully sarcastic fireball – so he presses their mouths together and rolls his hips up against Harry’s thigh and makes a note to thank Louis for turning the heating on, because otherwise blowjobs would be out of the question. 

Harry’s _very_ good at blowjobs, as it turns out.


End file.
